Everything All the Time

I wouldn't call it a social network. In fact, I'd call it an artificial social networking tool. I'd call it crazy in a box but, that is, only if you have a mobile device that allows you to log in and check up every ten minutes. I'm talking about Facebook. Recently, I've been calling it FaceFuck. I have a Facebook. In the past I've used it frequently. By frequently, I mean I've found myself checking my page 30+ times a day from my phone (or portable computing device) for notifications, messages, friend-request, updates, etc... The amount of hours I've wasted on this site makes me shake my head in embarassment. Frankly, I'm ashamed with myself. Facebook: The mighty outside influence.

How many times a day do you look into the mirror or see a reflection of yourself? Can you pass by a glass window without staring at yourself? I haven't been able to. I've become incredibly vain... I'm soaking in self delusion. I feel that I managed to find an addiction to Facebook. My eyes are ruined because I've spent countless hours starting at the small three by two inch screen on my phone at all hours of the night and day, sometimes only inches from my face. My eyes are strained when I go outside in the daytime, I find it hard to look straight up. I've been forcing my eyes to see clearly at night. I don't think hope is lost for my eyes, I think only that I need to lay off the back-lit screens for a while.

Through personal observation, I've found FB to cause more of a social distortion than a network. Does one really need to know what all of his/her friends are doing all at once? I've felt left out. I've felt unpopular, unloved, and forgotten all because no one commented on my status. Stupid, right? I don't want or need my  current life summed up on a computer screen. I want my friends to ask me about my day, my week, my month, my year. I want to ask you too. I don't want you to read and assume. I want you to know and feel me for me. I want to feel you and know you. It's fake. Unreal. It's a world behind a glass window, in a little box, in the palm of your hand. It's so tempting. It's a woman in a blue dress dancing in disguise. What is she disguising? She's in disguise of cruel intention. You're not on FB because you want to know, you're on FB because you want to see. It's easy access to the personal life of efveryone else. What's more is you can be who ever you want to be!

I'm finding it hard not to be cross. For I feel I ruined the better parts of me by abusing a tool of vanity. I lost heart, mind, and a very important person in my life, all because I let my guard down and became confused. Had FB not been in my life, I think this last year and a half would have been different. It could have been better. But, FB isn't soley to blame. For I have realized that although speak in spite and I curse the name and nature of FB, I made the choices myself. I pushed the buttons. Click to send. I saw what I shouldn't have seen, read what I shouldn't have read, became what I didn't want to become. And now, regret with a lesson learned. Play with fire, you might get burned.

Pent Up

Inside of Jorge's room, in the house that he shares with Julio and Jessica, two dogs, and some fish. I might live here soon. A few weeks ago my mom sent me a text message while I was at work, it read, "I have already spoken to Azhara, you and she have until May first to stay with me."

I should have been mad. I should have burst with anger. I shouldn't hold it in.

Someone said she could see my "inner battles" play out. I highly doubt that she could though.
Or at least, she would never understand what sort of battle is being fought inside of me.

So I called my Dad on my lunch break. Told him that my Mother was kicking me out. I told him that I wanted to come to Kansas. Kick it old school on the farm. He said I could. There's work that needs to be done. Money that needs to be made. Bugs that need to be squashed. Kansan's that need to be Blained. I miss my Dad. I miss the farm...

I still think of you.
Your voice is in the air.
Spring is your song.
I sing alone.
I sing along.
Photo's tell me stories
you're getting by
tying knots on your blouse
not for me.
I miss the dogs and the cats
the way you looked at me sometimes.

I"m just getting stranger and stranger. I have to force connection. Maybe I was just nervous but, when I spoke to you on that amazing and subtle night, on the couch, downstairs, below sleeping heads, I forced myself to listen. You had interesting things to say. Honestly, it was one of the best conversations I've had in a long time. We were without intentions, at least, we were silent about it. We talked movies, food, and music. Then Taco bell. Then the cemetery. Then you drove me home. I spend most of my days quiet. My jaw hurt from all of the chatter. It was a fun sting. Thank you for bringing me something real. I've haven't been here lately. Maybe it's the pain of being a man. Maybe it's the struggle of the artist. Maybe it's the insanity kicking in. Whatever it is, you helped me clear my head of nonsense, worry, and doubt. For a few hours, it was just you, me, and words. Text messages can be so lame. Facebook messages can be so dry. And lets not get started about Myspace... You were there with me. Looking in my eyes, listening to what I said. You were interested. I was there too. My eyes danced over you. You were hair, I was hair. We were words and laughter. You could count my yawn three times over and till this day, I'll still say that I wasn't tired.

Sober

I have friends that drink too much. I have friends that smoke too much. I have friends that don't do anything. I want to say something but, I don't know how. Now it's all drama. Now it's tension. Now it's uncomfortable to be around you because you're always drunk. Now it's difficult to work with you because you're always high. Suddenly all of your plans have changed. Suddenly your mind has changed and you've forgotten everything. Now you're angry at everyone. Now you're always depressed. Does alcohol balance the angry? Does weed balance the sad? Fuck. You guys are bringing me down. Youth is about learning how to push and not pull. It's about learning how to be responsible. It's about learning how to be responsible while still having fun. That's called being an adult. Growing up happens. Accept it. There's more to life than screwing with your brain and rearranging your emotions. My brain is screwed up enough. I don't want to worry about you guys. I'd give up my drinking and my smoking if you guys would give me one sober moment. I'm your friend, I'll drink with you, I'll get high with you, we'll have a good time but, I won't let you bring me down.. I'm staying up. Sink or swim boys... Sink or swim.

Social

I can't get around it. Facebook here, Facebook there. Myspace here, Myspace there. Status status. Update update. What's on your mind? What's on his mind? What's on hers? This is spinning out of control. Text messages. Where are you? Why did you text me? Can I come? What's wrong? Are you Ok? Hey how's it going!? What's the deal? What's the word? Spinning out of control. Email frenzy. Pop-up pop-ups. Blocked. Delete. Delete. Scan images. Take pictures with your phone. Make calls from your camera. Video messages. Audio hallucinations. Disabled. Forbidden. Hidden. Instant message. Twitter this, twitter that. Who I'm with. Who are you with? Where you are. Where you've been. Where you're going. I just don't care. I do it though. I'm apart of this chaos. This obsession. Creating vanity. Creating soldiers of misfortune. Creating insecurities. It's not just for high school girls with small tits. This is the time of bulk up boys. This is the day of make up girls. This is the decade of Final Fantasy. Where you get to live your dreams before you live your life. Imagine the child, alone and forgotten. No one know's the pain, the trouble, the wanting. Imagine no one knew what happened to because no one got the Facebook update. Because the message over Twitter never got around. Well now the child is gone. The pictures still exist on the web. Networked. Now people and drop in every couple of months to say that they miss you and all they want to do is hold you and see you again. It's beyond the remote control. It's on the horizons of being real people. We are becoming machine. It's starts in our pockets and ends up on our skin. It's the disbelief that it could ever happen that creates the blind and initiates the blank stare. The know it alls become the know no good. The brainiacs will become plastic. God will be replaced by Google. Food will be replaced by non-nutritive substitutes. Fire will be replaced with heat. Cold with be replaced with conditioners. Love will die. Love will evaporate. Today is sex. Today is who fucked who. Today is I put the one in the other and then did the this after the that. Today is dirty, nasty, filthy for the mind. The twisted desires have made themselves known. I am living in it. I carry the weight with me. I tell the whole world where I am. I have to keep you on your toes. Where will I be next? Keeps you guessing, I guess. Keeps you thinking, I think. Yes, I want a change of pace. I want the people to see the truth of being alive. I want to be the change. I need the world to realize that there is more than drugs, sex, and alcohol. We're dying. Dying because of the absence of love. Love for each other. Love for the the different types of people. Love for the different ideas and cultures. Maybe it's an American thing. Natural beauty is all around us but, I can't unglue my face from my cell phone. And I choose to take it with me? I need to go back to basics because I can't live like this.